Reunification
by LolaInSlacks88
Summary: Elliot visits Tyrell post-season three finale, ready to realign with his former ally.


Elliot looked up at the imposing apartment as traffic whooshed by and chatter echoed around him.

 _What am I doing here?_

 _You know what,_ the voice of his father answered. _You're gonna need all of the allies you can get to take down the Dark Army. Angela and Darlene are a start, maybe that FBI chick—but you can't deny the motherfucking CTO of E-Corp would be a great puppet to pull the strings of._

 _We already pulled his strings and it cost him his family. He shot me and blew up 71 buildings._

 _Yeah, he's a fucking whack-job. But he's loyal and in an optimal position for us to use him._

' _Loyal?' He flipped on us as soon as he found out_ you _existed._

 _Ah, Elliot. Hate and love are two sides of the same coin. Just flip him back and you'll have him in the palm of your hand, I promise you._

Elliot didn't feel anonymous in the abyss of his hood, so he slipped it back and cleared his throat. His hand hovered in front of the doorbell, extending a finger toward the button. It shook slightly.

 _He's unpredictable. What if he tries to kill you again?_

Robot's memories had started to become Elliot's once more. One benefit of merging personae.

 _He won't kill us. He's just a little boy in big boy britches throwing a tantrum._

Elliot's finger pressed the button. He heard a dull buzz from within the building. He stepped back, prepared to turn on his heel and bolt when the door opened. His nerves were starting to take over.

 _It's just the Swede. Nothing to be nervous about. Man up, kiddo._

Elliot stayed where he was but the door didn't open. He swallowed spit that wasn't there and approached the door again, lifting his hand to knock.

He knocked. Too timidly, so he knocked again but harder. Finally, he heard the clomp of footsteps approaching. His heart thudded in his chest and he felt himself start to sweat.

The door opened, revealing Tyrell Wellick's face. He didn't look aggravated like Elliot expected—more exhausted. His eyes were rimmed with red and an undone tie dangled around his dress shirt. The buttons were crooked. His pants were unzipped and missing a belt, and he wore white socks.

Tyrell smoothed back his hair. When he spoke, Elliot realized Tyrell wasn't exhausted—he was drunk. "Elliot? What're you doing here?"

He stunk of alcohol and slurred his words. Even as he hovered in the doorway, he wobbled so perilously Elliot was almost afraid the Swede would stumble down the steps onto the grimy sidewalk.

Elliot took a step forward. "Sorry to, uh, interrupt … I just thought we should talk."

Tyrell stepped back, opening the door. Elliot inhaled, knowing control might be out of his hands once he was in Tyrell's territory.

 _It has to be done, kiddo. He was useful before and he'll be useful again. Look at the shmuck—he's probably desperate for something to make him feel important again._

Elliot exhaled and ascended the steps, entering Tyrell's apartment. Tyrell closed the door behind him, managing a smile that was half-drunk, half-wistful. "I don't get many visitors anymore. The place is quiet. I have to say, you're one of the last people I expected to see at my door."

Elliot flipped the lock when Tyrell left it, waddling over to a couch and slumping into it. Elliot eyed the empty bassinet and the photo of Joanna, feeling a sliver of guilt for the fallout he'd been partially responsible for.

 _I've had a hand in all the cookie jars._

"I won't stay long."

Tyrell shut his eyes, not exactly a threatening figure in his current state. "It's the weekend. I don't have anywhere to be."

Elliot pressed into the room and folded his arms, leaning against the wall across from Tyrell. The tension within him was easing into faint pity. "You don't look like you're doing too well."

Tyrell laughed and opened his eyes. "What is this? A well-being check?"

"Sorry. You're just really drunk."

"So what? I have nothing else to do. Nothing else numbs the pain." Tyrell's eyes flitted to the framed photo of his model-gorgeous wife. He smoothed his hair out of his eyes. "Tell me what you want so we can end this little pity party."

"Remember what we discussed the last time I was here?"

Tyrell nodded.

Elliot withdrew a jammer that would block any devices the Dark Army might've planted to listen into Tyrell's apartment. He set it on the kitchen counter, on the edge of the living room where Tyrell sat.

"They won't hear us," Elliot said. He looked at Tyrell, who looked back at him with anticipation. "I want your help taking them down."

Tyrell laughed. "You want my help again? I don't think I'm useful to anyone in this state. I'm just a puppet for the Dark Army, running their corporate bullshit for them. Not to mention, you undid all of the work we accomplished on 5/9 … It makes me wonder what angle you're working."

"I know you're angry about what they did, about them using you, about them hiding what happened to your wife and son—"

"I already told you not to talk about them." A hint of the menacing instability returned to Tyrell's eyes. Elliot recoiled, pressing his back to the counter near the jammer. "Get to the point. You think I want to help you again?"

Elliot shrugged. "What do you have to lose?"

Tyrell pressed his lips together, unable to argue with that point. He swallowed and leaned forward, reaching for a bottle of vodka. There was no glass near it. "Either they use me or you use me. What's the difference?"

"You don't want what they want. You and I have the same end goal. I have other allies—it wouldn't just be you and me."

Tyrell set his bottle down and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "What, you mean the 'other' you? Which one am I even talking to?"

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you about it. But we were just work partners. I didn't think you needed to know. Only Angela and Darlene knew …"

"Obviously what we did meant more to me than it did to you." Tyrell leaned back in the couch, jerking his tie loose and throwing it at his side.

"That's not true. I picked the name 'Red Wheelbarrow' because of you. Because of that story you told me about your dad. We have more in common than you think."

"Than I _thought_ , you mean." Tyrell groaned and rubbed his eyes. "Elliot, I still don't understand how there's two of you. Which of you was I working with this whole time?"

"Both of us. But mostly him."

"Him _who_?"

Elliot swallowed. But what was the harm in telling Tyrell the truth? What would he have to lose?

"My father. 'Mr. Robot' is what I call him … it's the name of his old computer repair store. He died of cancer, working for one of E-Corp's plants. The Washington Township … you remember that?"

Tyrell nodded, looking at Elliot through bleary but focused eyes.

"I manifested another personality with his image. They were at odds for a long time, but there's always been a little bit of me in him and a little bit of him in me. So now we're working together to take down Dark Army. To take down the 1% who've never known loss or suffering. Not like we have."

Something clicked for Tyrell that made his eyes soften. His entire rigid body seemed to slacken, sinking into the sofa. "Elliot, you could've told me this so long ago. You can be honest with me. I just want to know who you are."

"I'm Mr. Robot and I'm Elliot. That's it. You've been working with both of us—you'd still be working with both of us."

Tyrell sat up and reached for the bottle, knocking it down when he discovered he'd drained it dry. "What would you want me to do?"

Elliot moved to the couch, sitting at the opposite end from Tyrell. "We can plan this together. All of us. I'll involve you in every step of the way—it won't just be my plan. It'll be ours, all of ours."

Tyrell nodded. "Okay. The two of us and Angela? And your sister?"

Elliot nodded. "The _three_ of us and them."

"How will I know which of you I'm talking to? That you won't work against each other again?"

"This is me: Elliot." Elliot pointed to himself. "He's more aggressive than me. More cursing, more, uh, impatient. I'm the introvert; he's the extrovert."

"I won't have to shoot you again, will I?" Tyrell cringed like the memory still left a sour taste in his mouth.

"I hope not. You, uh, won't pull out the blue gloves again, will you?" Elliot eyed the drawer Tyrell had opened the last time he'd visited. He vaguely remembered the weight of Tyrell around his waist and a blue fist balled above his face. If Price hadn't entered—with such a nonchalant reaction—Elliot had no idea what he would've done. What Robot would've done.

Tyrell glanced away, ashamed. "I was angry. I needed to feel in control."

Elliot shrugged. "I understand."

Tyrell looked back at him. "You do?"

Elliot managed a small smirk. "Sure. I mean, this whole thing's been about trying to take control from other people, right? To take it for ourselves? I've been fighting a battle with myself for control over my own actions."

"I won't claim to understand it, but I imagine it's difficult." Tyrell sat up, swallowing. "I feel sick. Sorry. Can you come back another time?"

"You're not worried about the Dark Army seeing us together? They'll want to know what we're up to."

Tyrell waved a hand at Elliot, trying to stand but stumbling back onto the couch. "You're right. They'll ask me why you were here tonight. Your apartment is probably being watched, too."

"I only came here because I didn't know another way to find you. Going to E-Corp itself isn't exactly subtle." Elliot winced, agonized by Tyrell's pitiful struggle to stand. "Hey, man, you need help?"

"Not the kind you can give."

"Standing up, I mean."

Tyrell fixed Elliot with a bright blue glare. "Like I said before, I don't need your pity." But he failed to stand and sighed heavily, holding out a hand for Elliot to grab.

Elliot took it, surprised by how warm and strong Tyrell's grip was despite the inebriated mess he currently was.

 _Those hands could do some real harm._

He pulled Tyrell to his feet, supporting him with an arm. "I can get you to the bathroom before I go. I'll think up some way for us to talk again, code something they won't be able to figure out. Find a place for us to meet discreetly."

Tyrell pointed in the direction he wanted Elliot to take him. Elliot dragged him across thick carpet and slippery linoleum, passing more mementoes of his wife and son Tyrell had been unable to part with.

 _He's fucked up, but I still feel sorry for him._

 _I guess I'm fucked up, too. We all are, in some way._

"Bathroom," Tyrell eked out, pointing. Elliot dragged him into it and tried to stop Tyrell from collapsing onto the toilet. He lifted the lid and recoiled as Tyrell heaved, unleashing whatever vodka he'd just had. Elliot stepped back, unsure of what to do.

 _Would it be rude to leave him? What if he has alcohol poisoning?_

 _Elliot, you can't be telling me you actually care about this guy!_

 _Not necessarily, but it's common human decency, isn't it?_

The spectral image of his father laughed in his face. Elliot maintained a safe distance from Tyrell but he stayed in the room, making sure Tyrell didn't pass out and choke on his own vomit.

Tyrell's heaves and gasps slowed. He lifted an arm and pointed to the tub nearby.

"You want me to run it?" Elliot asked.

Tyrell nodded, dry heaving.

Elliot twisted the knobs, wondering how he'd gotten himself into this awkward situation. The water spilled forth and he lowered the plug, watching the cascading stream of liquid as it pooled below in a whirlpool-like swirl.

Tyrell sat up and made a disgusted noise. The toilet flushed and Elliot stood, tugging at his hoodie. "You okay, man?"

Tyrell managed to come to a shaky stand. He turned toward Elliot and started to undo the buttons of his shirt. "I will be."

"Okay. I'm gonna leave, then. You'll hear from me soon—"

"Elliot," Tyrell called, an edge of panic to his raspy voice. "Don't leave. It's lonely here now. _I'm_ lonely."

"Yeah? Well, I don't exactly wanna sit around watching you undress and take a bath."

"Why not? Besides, where do you have to be? Don't you get lonely, too?" Tyrell slid his shirt down surprisingly-defined arms until it tumbled to the ground in a pale blue pile.

Elliot backed away to the bathroom door but he couldn't think of a good excuse to leave. He _was_ lonely, and he didn't really have anywhere to be. Angela was with Price, trying to detox from Whiterose's brainwashing, and Darlene was hanging out with her new hooker bestie.

 _Staying low and away from Vera like I should be._

Tyrell rolled down his pants without hesitation. Elliot decided the comfort with nudity must've been a Swedish thing.

"Elliot, I'm not asking you to get in with me or even help me wash. Honestly, I'm just going to soak in the water and sober up—and I'd prefer not to be alone with my memories for a change."

Water displaced with a gentle sloshing sound as Tyrell climbed in, settling into the tub with a satisfied moan. Elliot looked back at him, relieved the bulk of Tyrell was hidden in the water. It wasn't that Tyrell's nudity in particular bothered him—nudity in general did.

"So what do you want me to do, then?"

"Talk to me. Or listen."

"Okay." Elliot lowered himself to his knees, remaining near the door so he was close to an exit. "Tell me more about your dad, I guess."

"You already know he was poor. He never amounted to anything in his life. My mother had to support us." Tyrell splashed water onto his face and hair, slicking it back. "She worked for E-Corp like your father and Angela's mother. She got sick and died, too. She taught me everything I knew. I respected her. And because of her, I always respected strong women—like my wife."

Elliot's eyes widened at this revelation. "She worked for E-Corp? Is that why you followed in her footsteps?"

Tyrell nodded. "I wanted to find a way to take them down from the inside. Joanna knew. She supported me every step of the way, as long as I made enough money for us to live a comfortable life in the meanwhile. She wanted a family, too—a better family than either of us had. But we never got the chance. So close yet so far."

Elliot's mouth dried out. The slight, nagging guilt he'd felt intensified. Tyrell was becoming a person to him, slowly but surely.

Tyrell sighed. "You gave me what I wanted then took it away." His eyes flashed to Elliot's. "Twice."

"Twice?"

"We were going to be gods together and you mocked me for it. I looked up to you. I loved you. Yet you—or your robot—saw me as some pathetic little cockroach, just like Price and Colby and every other fucking person besides my wife. She believed in me—my son would've believed in me. I thought you did, too. But I'm just like my father: a powerless puppet."

"I'm sorry." Elliot didn't know what else to say, what else he _could_ say. "I want to stop them from using you as a puppet. Maybe we can find a way to get your son back."

"If wishes were horses, Elliot, I'd have a farm like my fucking father always wanted."

"I don't think you're a cockroach, by the way," Elliot said. "You were helpful with 5/9. And you were successful with the explosions, even though I wasn't involved in that plan."

"Do you judge me for it?" Tyrell's eyes were narrowed under his light eyebrows. His hands moved over his arms, smoothing suds of soap over the contours of his muscles.

"You helped kill a lot of people, man. How can I not?" Elliot sighed. "I have blood on my hands, too. People you don't know. Just a few, but they meant more to me than the thousands who died in those explosions. No matter how you look at it, we're both killers. You're guilty of first-degree murder and I'm guilty of manslaughter."

"By the time we die, we're all guilty of something."

"Yeah. No one's innocent. But I have to ask, do you feel bad about it at all?" Elliot looked at Tyrell, maintaining their eye contact.

Tyrell broke it. "About what? Murdering that bitch or the people who died in the explosions?"

"Both. Either."

"I didn't mean to kill her but I felt _good_ about it in the end. She wasn't a good person; just a spoiled bitch who never knew anything hard in her life except her husband's cock—and however many other men she cheated on him with. Those people in the explosions … I wasn't intimate with them. I didn't see their faces. I drafted a plan; I didn't hit a button or pull a pin. So I don't feel guilty about it."

"That's messed up."

"No—it's honest." Tyrell slumped back in the tub. "The part of you I worked with on 5/9 would've understood. I guess that was your robot."

 _To hell with it—I'm sitting on the floor of this guy's bathroom while he's taking a bath. I might as well ask._

"You keep saying you loved me. You told Angela, you told Robot, you started to tell me—what did you mean?"

Tyrell scoffed. "You don't know what love is?"

"Of course I do. But why me? How?"

"Because you're like me, but the me I want to be." Tyrell pulled the plug; Elliot heard the vacuum of water. "I admire you. Your talent, your conviction. I thought you were perfect until Angela told me about your robot. Then I learned you weren't a god after all—just another fucked up human, like me."

Elliot was silent. Tyrell stood, completely bare and slick with water. "You confuse me now, more than anything. I'm not sure I love you anymore, or that I can hate you. To be honest with you, I'm still struggling with the idea of working with you again."

"I'm not forcing you. Whether you help me or not, I'll still do everything I can to take them down. To get your son back. Using him as leverage against you is fucked up. Maybe I can talk with Dom, their new FBI mole—"

"Elliot," Tyrell said softly, his face easing into a more relaxed expression as he reached for a tan towel, "it's a kind sentiment, but you're not a god—there are some things even you can't do alone."

"Okay. So we both know about each other's flaws, about the things we don't like about each other—that's good. Now we're being honest." Elliot stood up as Tyrell toweled off. "So are we gonna do this or what?"

Tyrell moved the towel to his hair. "Do what?"

"Work together again. I want to know I have your full support. That you won't vacillate or turn on me. No more shooting, blue gloves, or blowing up buildings unless they have fucking Whiterose and her lackeys inside them."

"You or your robot tried to shoot me," Tyrell said, dropping the towel to the ground. "But they said you realized the gun would've backfired on you and that's the only reason you didn't kill me. I think that was Fate. I don't think we've yet achieved what we were meant to achieve together. There are great things ahead of us, Elliot," he stepped toward Elliot, "as long as we're on the same page."

Robot looked at Tyrell, then back at Elliot, laughing sharply. "Get a load of this guy! Walking around naked like he owns the world. You see? You're giving him his confidence back already. He wants your approval, to know you need him. All that bullshit about not being sure he wants to work with you? It's because he needs to hear you need _him_. Let me make it clear: he's an asset, but he's volatile. You handle him like you'd handle a grenade, kiddo."

Elliot backed away, falling into the role of submission he usually drifted into around Tyrell. He'd always puzzled over Tyrell's habit of getting into his personal space, of the way he grabbed Elliot's face or stroked his shoulder with his thumb. He wasn't sure if it was yet another Swedish thing or if Tyrell's so-called love was more than platonic.

 _Or why I don't recoil every time he touches me. I'm like a mouse freezing in a cat's sights. I don't realize the danger until it's too late._

 _But Robot stepped in that time he almost told me he loved me. I remember that now. Robot isn't afraid of him._

 _I'm not afraid of him, either, but he makes me uneasy. I don't know how to handle him._

"We're cool, man," Elliot finally said, trying not to look down but unable to keep his eyes on the piercing blue of Tyrell's. "You cool?"

"Yeah. I'm feeling a lot better. It was nice to have some company, someone to talk to." Tyrell stood with about a foot's distance between himself and Elliot. "Everywhere I look, I see her. Our bed, the tub, the kitchen table. The places we used to talk, eat, make love … where we shared our lives. Now, I have no one to share mine with and she has no life."

"We'll get your son back, I promise." Elliot could hear the uneasiness in his voice, the uncertainty.

Tyrell latched onto it, smiling with the promise of power. "You know, I actually believe you when you say it." His hand moved to Elliot's cheek, as he was fond of doing. "I can believe in you again, if you believe in me."

And again, Elliot's feet were frozen to the floor. His heart pounded in his ears, but he couldn't look away—it was like he was a snake being charmed. His dry lips parted but stuck together.

"I'm glad you stopped by, Elliot." Tyrell's hand moved to the back of Elliot's neck, squeezing. His other hand gripped Elliot's shoulder. "I look forward to working together again."

Robot phased into Elliot's peripheral vision. "Woah, kiddo—you gonna let him go all grabby hands on you like that?"

Elliot spoke out of the side of his mouth, even though it was only in his mind. "So step in and save me like you did before."

"Hey," Robot threw up his hands, "I can't fight all your battles for you. Maybe some part of you _wants_ to be touched."

"By _him_?"

"Who else? Angela's got a Daddy Complex and Darlene's your sister. That one didn't end well for ya, did it?"

Elliot was frozen by a crippling loneliness. More emotional than physical, but he couldn't deny humanity's need for physical contact now and again. He believed in connections in technology and between people. And like Tyrell said, _'There's something between us: I can feel it.'_

 _I can feel it, too._

"Elliot, seriously—you got a boner for this guy or what? He's got a rotten personality, but I guess if you can get past that, he's not bad to look at. He's a little pasty, but he's got some nice muscle tone and those light blue eyes you like so much. Plus, I'm sensing you have a thing for blondes—"

"I detest sex." But his retort to Robot wasn't constrained to his mind this time.

Tyrell let go of him and made a strange sound like a chortle. "I beg your pardon?"

Elliot exhaled, relieved Tyrell had let go of him, at least. "Sorry. I was talking to him."

Tyrell smirked. "About sex?" His smirk lifted into a broad grin, baring white, even teeth. "Ah, I see. Should I go dress, then?"

"I'm gonna leave, anyway." Elliot tugged his hood back onto his head. Tyrell shook his head, still smiling as he walked into his bedroom. Elliot marched past him, heading for the door, but he could hear Tyrell speaking to him as he dressed.

"I've done it with men before, you know. There's nothing wrong with it. If you want that kind of partnership too, you wouldn't exactly have to pull my teeth."

Elliot's hand was already wrapped around the doorknob, but something made him freeze. "I'm not interested in that, Tyrell."

"We'd be a dangerous pair to try and part, you and I. The Dark Army wouldn't be surprised by that kind of development; we're both single now, young, attractive … It'd give us a good excuse to be seen together. Late night visits and all …"

"They'd still be suspicious. We'd have to play porno noises for them or something. They probably bugged your place with cameras, too."

Elliot's skin prickled when he sensed Tyrell enter the living room, standing behind him—even though they were a good distance apart.

Elliot turned, near the door for a quick exit. Tyrell was dressed now, but barely, wearing a tight, white tank that clung to his wet skin and equally curve-hugging boxer-briefs. There was a slight elevation in Elliot's pulse as he admitted to himself he could appreciate—and envy—a man's figure.

"Then they've seen you help me to the toilet and sit with me while I bathed. That's intimate, isn't it? The way I held you, how close we were standing …"

 _Does he play the role of a predator or does he play the role of the betrodden, depressed widower? Which Tyrell is real?_

 _Does_ he _have a robot?_

Elliot watched Tyrell walk toward him with assured, steady steps; either the hot water and puking had helped him sober up, or he hadn't been as drunk as he'd played himself up to be. He _was_ drunk; Elliot smelled the alcohol, and perhaps his assertiveness now was being exacerbated by the vodka.

Elliot's hand retreated behind him, fumbling for the door knob. "Tyrell, that really isn't a good idea."

Tyrell stopped in front of him. Elliot could feel his breath on his face, now minty-fresh. "Elliot, I won't keep pushing this on you if you don't want it. But you don't exactly run away from me."

"I just said I don't want it."

"So go, then." Tyrell reached past Elliot's hip and covered his hand, twisting the doorknob. Elliot realized it was still locked, a surge of panic making his heart skip a beat.

 _Robot, come on! Shove him off—make him stop like you did last time!_

Robot appeared behind Tyrell, smiling and shaking his head. "Kiddo, there's a part of me in you. It would've come out already if you _really_ wanted it to. Face the facts: you've got a lot of tension in you and you need an outlet. You want this guy to be loyal to us again? This is a good way to do it."

"Are you insane?!" Elliot yelled in Tyrell's face, though he was addressing Robot.

Tyrell recoiled, his eyebrows lifting. "I'm not the one who's insane here, Elliot." He glanced behind him, where Elliot was staring. Robot had vanished. When Tyrell looked back at Elliot, he smiled. "You were talking to him, weren't you? Interesting. Did you want him to take over? To fight me off? He's the one who handles all your battles for you, isn't he? It's starting to make sense …"

"Tyrell, please back off," Elliot screwed his eyes shut, "I really don't like physical contact."

Tyrell's hand tightened then relaxed against Elliot's. "You really are trembling." He backed off, his heat abandoning Elliot. "Okay. I'll respect that. But," his hand moved to Elliot's chin, tilting it up, "just for the record, you really are adorable. And even if there weren't cameras here, I'd want to kiss you."

Elliot wasn't used to being wanted, not like this. Certainly not by someone this forward, someone as problematic as him. It was hard to say whether they'd come together like magnets or explode like a spark near gasoline.

Leon kept him safe in jail, so the last time he'd been intimate was with Shayla. And he'd lost her. He was afraid of intimacy even though he yearned for it. The fool's dilemma.

 _Darlene lost Cisco. And she used Dom, but she regretted it. She's cursed just like me._

 _I don't want to use Tyrell. I don't want him to use me._

"Tyrell," Elliot said when it clicked for him, "you're just using me to fill the void your wife left."

Tyrell's hand fell from Elliot's chin and his eyes widened. "What?"

"You miss her. I lost someone, too. I missed her—I still do. Sometimes, I still go to her apartment because it's the closest I can get to her now. Just like you left your wife's belongings here. Don't want this because you miss her—don't want this because you think it'll get the Dark Army to back off of us being together. If you want it because you want it—"

"I was trying to tell you I loved you in the arcade," Tyrell blurted out, his cheeks blushing pink, "but you stopped me. Or he did, I don't know. Can't you just accept that love? Sure, it hurts to lose it, but what's the point in never letting yourself feel it?"

"I don't love you—I barely _know_ you."

"You don't have to love me. Just let me love you. I worshipped you." Tyrell fell to his knees in front of Elliot. "I'll still worship you if you want me to. This isn't the first time I'll be on my knees in front of you, and it won't be the last." He gripped the sides of Elliot's legs. "You have the power to change the world but not the power to allow yourself to love. Maybe you think I'm weak, maybe you think you can't love two people at once, but just because you think it doesn't make it so. I will always love my wife. I will always miss her. But I can still love you, too. If you let me."

Elliot thought about reaching for the lock, second-guessing himself for coming here to recruit Tyrell in the first place.

 _It won't end well. He's too volatile._

 _Ah, just let the fool love you,_ Robot cut in. _You need to get laid, anyway. Let him serve his purpose—then you can take care of him. I mean, look at him: I'll bet he'll even let you top._

Elliot was aghast at Robot's reasoning— _his_ reasoning. _You stopped him before. Why not now?_

 _You can't stop a bullet when it's coming at you. Just take it. Give him what he wants, let him feel wanted. He'll never betray you—you'll be just like his wife. He'll do anything, everything for you. To make_ you _happy. He won't have room to care about anything else._

 _That way, Elliot, you can control him. He'll have a collar and you'll have the leash. Make him heel._

Elliot's hand moved tentatively to caress Tyrell's still-wet hair. Tyrell looked up at him, practically melting at his touch. "Elliot?"

"It's okay. You can love me."

Tyrell's eyebrows lifted. He rose to his feet, searching Elliot's eyes intently. "Thank you, Elliot." His hands moved to grip the edges of Elliot's hood. "Can I?"

Elliot nodded. Tyrell lowered the hood and slid his hands to Elliot's cheeks, pressing himself against Elliot. Elliot exhaled, trying to relax, to let what was happening happen. To give up control. Tyrell kissed Elliot lightly, his lips tickling Elliot's like a bug crawling on his skin. Elliot shut his eyes and gave in, his tensed fingers flattening against the wood of the door behind him.

Tyrell was surprisingly tender, like he was handling antique porcelain he was afraid might break. He caressed Elliot's lips with his but kept it chaste and dry, though Elliot could feel the evidence of Tyrell's excitement pressed against him.

Elliot's views on sexuality were similar to his sister's: that it was fluid and didn't need to be labeled. Unlike Darlene, he didn't typically enjoy sex or physical intimacy. This was strange, surreal even, but it wasn't _disgusting._ He wasn't repelled by the sensation of Tyrell's body pressed to his like he was trying to melt into Elliot.

His hands neither moved to caress Tyrell's face like Tyrell caressed his, nor to escape. He let it happen, acknowledged his own body's response to stimulus, and briefly wondered what the Dark Army lackeys watching this must be thinking. Price hadn't seemed all-too surprised to see Tyrell straddling Robot-Elliot on the floor with those damned blue gloves on.

 _So this is what it's like to be wanted. To be loved._

 _I don't hate it._

Tyrell withdrew and looked at him with eager eyes, like a dog asking its master if it had done well. He managed a weak smile, his eyebrows knitting together. "Was that okay?"

Elliot nodded, pressing his slightly wet lips together.

Tyrell seemed reluctant to part from Elliot, but he moved back to give him space. "Would you hate it if I did it again? Not right now, but some other time?"

Elliot was almost amused by Tyrell's evolution from assertive to borderline bashful. His lips slid into a smile before he even realized he was doing it. Tyrell relaxed, interpreting this as Elliot's consent. "We won't do anything you don't want to. I just want to be close to you. Thank you for letting me."

 _Tyrell's crazy, all right. But if he's crazy for me, it's easier to keep it under control. If all he wants is a kiss and a cuddle from time to time, at worst to let me fuck him, I can manage it. I need him. He's talented, he's the CTO of E-Corp, and he belongs to the Dark Army._

 _And now he belongs to me._

Elliot's smile grew, his eyes scanning Tyrell's hopeful gaze. Robot was acting as one with him, pleased by the development of Tyrell and Elliot's working 'relationship'.

Mr. Robot was more than willing to take Tyrell out if he became problematic. Only time would tell if Elliot would be at odds with him once again.


End file.
